Chuck vs Sarah vs Missing Memories
by shetowstheline
Summary: Continues after the last scene from Chuck vs the Bullet Train. What happens next?
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck vs Sarah: **

**Chapter 1:**

Sarah studies the single photograph.

_Do you recognize this face? _

It was not an unpleasant face. In fact, under other circumstances, she would have found him a little _adorable_, not that she ever used words like that aloud. She was not the type of girl who lost her trail of thought over overgrown curls and warm eyes. She was not a fool.

Nor did she enjoy being fooled.

Her handler was quite insistent. This underwhelming man with the goofy smirk and wayward curls was responsible for her hospitalization and memory loss. Clearly there was more to the eye to Chuck Bartowski than what she can see.

Whatever he's done to her, to Quinn, to the United States of America, it was irreparable.

His life must come to an end.

She closes her eyes. If she could remember everything that's happened in the last hour, two hours, this morning, then why couldn't she remember anything in the past five years? It shouldn't be this hard.

_Hospital?_

_Japan? _

_Bullet train? _

Nothing. Just three random locations.

How could memories like what she had to eat on the flight from Washington to LA last night have happened five years ago? How could the bruise from knocking her knee into the door two days ago fade overnight only to be replaced by angry welts on her wrists?

She waits for a moment of familiarity to hit her. Have they crossed paths years ago? Maybe she had been in training; maybe she's seen him while jogging or sat beside him on a flight.

_Come on._ Anything.

Maybe she's seen him in the background of a surveillance dossier.

Maybe she's seen him under a different alias.

Nothing.

Finally she has to accept the truth.

_Never seen him before. _

* * *

><p><em>There he is. <em>

She wasn't sure what she was expecting but he wasn't it.

She watches him from the parked car. She was concealing herself though the precaution was hardly necessary. She's never seen him before in her life; all she has to go on is a name and an address.

He was walking slowly from the complex; head down, lips pressed tightly together, feet dragging against the pavement. So far nothing extraordinary. She didn't imagine many thirty-something retail clerks overjoyed by the prospect of returning to work on a Monday. He looked older and more bedraggled than the photograph she'd been handed but she dismissed it for a wild weekend of drinking and video games or whatever it was male counterparts her age did with their spare time.

She was the last person to know about the things normal people did.

This observation concerned her. He was not from her world.

The mark was completely unaware of her presence across the road. He didn't look over his shoulder; his eyes didn't lift off the ground. He just kept walking on, as if each step was a step closer to his end.

This concerned her also. He was not expecting her. He didn't have a guilty conscience.

She could not say he was what she expected. From a cursory glance, he was unremarkable save for his height which was mildly greater than the norm. The best word to describe him would be lanky; a purely esthetic description that did nothing to explain the way Sarah felt.

She didn't do things like this without her own brand of justification. She blindly followed orders once much to her regret. Even now that day still stands as one of the worst days of her life.

But her orders were clear and her personal motives sufficient—so why can't she justify the means to this end?

_Simple. _

Because she went to bed last night and woke up five years in the future and there is nothing in the space between. She has scars that she didn't have last night, scars long healed that denote a passage of time she can't account for.

How many lives have passed through her hands? How many deeds must she repent for? It wasn't fair. She deserved to know. That was her burden to carry, her secrets to take to the grave.

Instead there is nothing. And when she tries (God only knows how many times now) all that intensifies is near constant ache behind her eyes.

She doesn't know the first place to search. She doesn't know how to use her cell phone. None of the numbers she remembers connect anywhere. There is no Graham, no Bryce, and no Carina. Instead all she has now are Quinn and Chuck Bartowski. She can't tell the devil from the other but she will surely get to the bottom of this.

She watches her mark stop at the driver side door. He stands still as stone even though the keys are clearly in his hand. He appears weak enough for a strong gust of wind to blow him over. He looks just harmless enough to be dangerous.

For half a second Sarah thinks he senses her and her hand drifts to her purse.

She holds her breath and prays he doesn't look behind him. She's not prepared to act on instinct but she's so tightly wound she just might.

He doesn't.

As if coming to his senses, he opens the door and starts the car. Moments later he drives away from the block.

_It could have been so easy. _

Sarah exhales slowly and her grip on the firearm relaxes slightly. She waits for a minute or two, then starts her car and gently eases it from the curb.

She's hesitating and she knows.

If she were younger it would already be over.

Carina always did associate the city of love and lights to be the defining moment when her friend stopped being so 'fun'.

Her target was so close—Sarah sighed. Would eliminating Bartowski give her the answers she's searching for?

Of course not. Though on the other hand, a dead body tells no lies.

Sarah takes another deep breath as she watches him leave.

A voice consoles her. She'll have her chance again.

_So close I can almost taste it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She walks into the Buy More with a mind to do some surveillance on the mark but before she's taken five steps, she feels like she's walked into a trap. Even though she's dressed to fit in with the crowd she feels like she's being watched.

At first it's only a feeling. A familiarity she hasn't been acquainted with since waking from what feels like an awful dream. It is reassuring (at last, something!) until she begins to question why she should feel like she's been to a place she's never been before.

Is she still dreaming?

Would her heart feel so uneasy, would her hands sweat, would her head throb if she were still in a dream?

She is so lost she wonders if Quinn's made a mistake bringing her back into the field. She shouldn't have been so quick to jump at the offer of an assignment but then again, this was her only identity. She couldn't lose everything now, could she?

She searches for him in the aisles. She stands on her tiptoes though it shouldn't be necessary. How many places could a man of his height hide?

_"Sarah?"_

She doesn't need to turn around to know who the voice belongs to.

She hears his voice for the first time and realizes she's miscalculated her moves. He's one step ahead; her advantage is lost.

_"Sarah?"_

Her first instinct is not to reach for the gun concealed in her bag but for her chest. Panic overtakes her as she makes one last desperate attempt to recover what's lost. Anything at all would be better than the nothingness; the shell of person she's been left with.

Ever the professional, she forces herself to take a deep breath and turn around, even though she's nearly shaking from nerves.

"Hi, _Chuck_," she said. It's the first time she's said his name aloud and it tumbles off her tongue like a stone. She's convinced she couldn't have strung any other two words together more awkwardly.

The first thing she realizes is that he's even taller than she imagined; she has to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes and that's not something she does often.

It's a mistake. He knows her more deeply than she realizes or remembers. She's used to having men stare at her but this was different. She has trouble meeting such an intense gaze.

His demeanor causes her to relax for a brief moment. Suddenly she understands how such a seemingly harmless person could have been the cause of her downfall. She catches herself just in time but that's not something she does often.

She's saved by the fact there is no boyish smirk or charming smile as she had expected. In front of her is a man who has seen too many things and lost more. She can work with that. They have something in common.

"Thank God you're alright," he said. He hugs her so suddenly and with such force that she's unable to react. She's used to being assaulted but not like this. She doesn't know how she's supposed to respond to something like this.

Briefly she considers the knife she has concealed within her jacket. Briefly she wonders whether Chuck Bartowski is a criminal mastermind because he was good. He was very good at disarming her.

What's truly more alarming is the fact she's allowing a stranger to get under her skin like this.

She considers her orders but a conscience she didn't know she was in possession of forbids her from acting further. Was she really so callus that she had to suspect every little gesture someone made?

The answer was as pathetic as it was true.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you call?" Chuck barely loosens his grip to examine her face before he's back to smothering her in a bear hug. "Sarah, I was so worried about you."

Sarah wracks her mind for an excuse. Clearly they knew each other and were close, but how close? Were they friends? Partners? Or, was it as she dreaded, something more unthinkable…

"Uh…" She surprised herself by not lying when it came to an excuse. "I wanted to call but I didn't know how to use my phone," she said. "I must have dropped it."

He lets go of her and takes a step back. There's no hiding the fact he's doing a double take. For the first time, a shade of doubt appears in his eyes.

Sarah grows very still. She is not the Sarah Walker he is used to; alas Sarah doesn't know which personality she's been playing for him. "Here," she said, producing her cell. "Maybe you can help me."

She takes the phone from her pocket and holds it out as a peace offering. He stared at it for a long time and all the while she could sense the gears in his head turning. There's a sudden coldness between them. He suspects. He probably knows.

He takes her phone finally and rapidly pushes a series of buttons. _Oh._ Sarah watches intently while trying not to look quite so fascinated. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asks. He handed it back to her and Sarah was acutely aware of his gaze as she stared at her now activated phone. "One-double-O-seven," he said. "You forgot your passcode?"

A shot of panic ran down Sarah's back. She matched his gaze, if only so she could gauge how much he knew. If he knew about this, what else did he know about?

"Your phone's been reset," he remarked. "What happened to you? How did you get away?"

Sarah swallowed slowly. _From who? _She stared at him. She was sure that the Sarah of the past five years—his Sarah—would have been able to read him in a second, but she couldn't. She didn't know the first thing about him.

_Was it you? _

"I don't know. We were in Japan." She spoke slowly so she had time to read his reaction to her every word. "We were on a bullet train…"

He nods at each break. Quinn was telling the truth.

She rubs her temples. "I don't know. I don't remember." It's so much easier when she doesn't have to lie. She doesn't know who Bartowski is or who he is to her, but from their short exchange she already has an idea. He's someone who cares.

She hates herself but she presses forward anyway. "I-I…" she hesitates, the words become increasingly harder to choke out. She doesn't know why her body is betraying her when this could be the moment that tips the scale. "All I remember is you, Chuck. I came to find you."

The smile that explodes on his face is like a knife in the heart. Sarah Walker is officially going to hell.

"Hey…" He comforts her, oblivious to the mounting guilt piling on her shoulders. "All that matters is that you're here." His guard is down, his eyes are alight, and she thinks there is too much kindness, too much sentimentality behind his eyes for her to see clearly. She doesn't need any of that.

Especially not from the person she's been sent to kill.

She tries to find his tell; a moment when his façade of kindness flickers and the true Chuck Bartowski emerges. The one who took away the last five years of her life, committed unspeakable crimes and betrayed his country.

It bothers her that she cannot hear lies in his voice or see the deception in his warm brown eyes. It will make the end all the harder.

"Let's get you to see Ellie; we need to make sure you're okay." Chuck takes her by the arm and turns her towards the front doors.

"Unless Ellie's a brain surgeon, I don't think there's any point." It's a bad joke but Chuck doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile.

Sarah swallows. She needs to be more careful with the things she says. "I'm sorry, I don't remember… I'm just so tired. I just—"

"No, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay." He falls for her damsel in distress plea but it only makes her feel worse.

"Please stop," she said. She needs to leave. Nothing has gone according to plan.

She took a furtive glance at the door. There were so many witnesses here. She couldn't act on her orders even if she wanted to.

Maybe she could go home and clear her thoughts.

The thought almost made her laugh.

_What home? _

Sarah took a deep breath. The room was starting to spin.

"Stop what?"

_Stop acting like you know me,_ she almost said—except she knew for an irrefutable fact that he did know her.

"Sarah," he said. "Everything's going to be okay."

He spoke as if he believed it but she knew better. Things could only become much, much worse from here.

He took her by the hand and squeezed. "Hey, it's me, Chuck. Remember? I'm -"

The weight of the bag was suddenly too heavy for Sarah to hold up. "Wh-what?" she whispered.

He hesitated. It was the lapse that made the room spin harder and the breath catch in her lungs. Nothing good ever came from such a pause.

She barely heard the words, because when she looked down, she could already see proof in his hands. The words were just a sickening affirmation.

_Husband._

The gravity of the last five seconds takes over all the lost time behind her. It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered.

Because, she thought she heard him say—

_ "I'm your husband."_


End file.
